Mortality before our very eyes. It was a dark and stormy night…just messin’ with you…it was a beautiful, crisp, verdant morning rolling up from Atlanta to Dahlonega on Emma (Thruxton R). Alone, only mildly hungover, and ebullient.
Entering Dahlonega, I made the respectable decision to stop for gas. The place was filled with motorcycle riders. Brothers and sisters all decked out in safety finery astride worldly machines. Sharing the pump on the other side was a young couple on a Ducati - also looking forward to a beautiful riding day. We exchanged pleasantries, admired each other’s bike, and maybe even High Fived in our giddiness. My New Friend’s lovely girlfriend riding on the back also pleasantly chimed in our small talk about the run-yet-to-be. New Friend asked me where I was headed, I mentioned Suches area, and he said that’s where they were headed, too. “Want to follow us? Yes, I do”. So, we headed out from the gas station.
From the outset, New Friend was displaying all the riding patterns of a Good Mood - starting off at a sprint, weaving to and fro in smooth semi-circles, and going pretty damn fast for my taste. (I fancy myself as Devil-May-Care but that’s just not the case.) My bike could easily keep up, but my riding style could not. New Friend kept on accelerating as we entered the windy, mountain roads and lost me. I didn’t want them to think I peeled off without waving, but I was also not going to ride faster than my skill level. Decided to just catch up with him when I could see him. Thought to myself: there’s bound to be an old dump truck or a club of Fast & The Furious tuner cars careening down the mountain that will slow them up. Nowhere in sight for several bends and downhill banks. Then, I notice a young couple in a red Japanese convertible, stopped in the facing lane, and waving wildly. Looks like they’re trying to get my attention; so, I slow. They point to the side of the road. It’s New Friend’s lovely girlfriend laying on her back on the dirt shoulder with New Friend leaning over her, pants bloody and torn to shreds, and visibly shaken. Bike is nowhere to be found. I park my bike next to them as a barrier of sorts while several other motorcyclists stop to help any way they can. New Friend says, “Thanks for stopping, Man. I think my pegs might have hit the road and spun us out.” His lovely girlfriend is very shaken, obviously in pain, but not seriously injured. Dawson County police and medics were on the scene in minutes, Thank Goodness. The incredible Ducati I admired so just fifteen minutes ago was mangled and laying at the bottom of a 30-foot gulley off the road. Thank-All-Various-Gods: New Friend and his Lady were decked out, head-to-toe, in full-face helmets, jackets, and pants. Both were hurt but it could’ve been so much worse. As the industrious medics carefully loaded New Friend’s Lady into the ambulance, he said, “Thanks again for stopping” and jumped into the ambulance - cut up, shaken, and dejected.
Standing by my Thruxton for a minute or two to catch my breath, I mumbled “could’ve easily been me”, fired the Thruxton up, and rode off. I felt guilty about not asking for a contact number to check on them (New Friend was obviously more-than-a-little preoccupied). I felt guilty about being able to carry out the beautiful ride New Friend and I chatted about (like 80s teenagers tailgating with a case of Milwaukee’s Best at a Ratt concert) at a Dahlonega Exxon. I felt guilty arriving home safe and sound - eating a pizza and drinking a few - instead of waiting around for a blessed Doctor to tell me how my girlfriend is doing. Guilty, yes, but not enough to stop me.
